


New Beginnings

by theofficegirl



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theofficegirl/pseuds/theofficegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You reveal The Shire’s beauty to me, when The Shire itself doesn’t have the words.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This has not been beta'd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginnings

A short knock at the door roused Samwise Gamgee from his stance at the kitchen table. He recognised the knock – direct yet gentle – a typical sign that Frodo Baggins was visiting. Sam’s hairy feet padded quickly to the door, potato peeler still in hand, and he greeted Frodo with a joyful smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr Frodo. What brings you to number three Bagshot Row? Should I shout for the Gaffer? He’s out back planting some cabbages. A new variety in season he says. Should come up a treat come September.”

“Actually Sam, it’s you I’ve come to see,” Frodo replied. “I was thinking of taking a long walk down to the Brandywine as it’s such a fine day, and I wondered if you would join me.”  
Frodo stopped and picked a piece of potato skin from Sam’s mousy curls and laughing continued, “if you’re not too busy that is!”

Blushing Sam took the potato from Frodo’s hand and nervously ran his fingers through his hair in fear that other vegetable parts may appear.  
“No, Mr Frodo, sir. I’m not too busy. Just doing a few chores around the burrow.”

“I wouldn’t want to take you away and get you in trouble with the Gaffer,” Frodo said, knowing that Sam wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Master,” Sam answered. “If I’m back by sun down I can finish them then. And if he don’t like that I know something he can do with his trowel in a personal way, if you get my meaning.”

Frodo laughed again, surprised by Sam’s bravado. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that!”

* * *

The two hobbits walked through the Bridge Fields, their bare feet becoming moist with dew. The earthly shade of their attire coordinated them perfectly with the lush landscape until, to the untrained eye, it appeared that the landscape itself was moving. They chatted intermittently along the way – about Bilbo, the coming harvest, Rosie Cotton and the pleasures of the Longbottom leaf. When they reached the banks of the Brandywine the sun was high, the air was warm, and insects droned sleepily past their ears.

* * *

Frodo lay facing the sky, his head in Sam’s lap as Sam plucked daisies from the surrounding grass. The sunlight danced on them from overhead, fighting its way through the dense canopy above.

Frodo said nothing whilst Sam told him about the different trees along the river, how the soil was good for growing barley, and how he thought the honey harvest would be sizeable that year.

“It’s on account of all these bees, of course. You don’t usually see so many this early in the year. I’ll be looking forward to spreading some fresh on my toast in the mornings, make no mistake!”

“I love listening to you talk, Sam,” Frodo said quietly, closing his eyes and allowing the orange light to steal over them.

“Me, Mr Frodo?” Sam asked incredulous. “But I’m just a simple gardener, with nowt interesting to say except whether the grass is growing straight or if a tree’s got root rot.”

“But that’s why I love it, Sam. You talk of the trees, the flowers, the insects. Of nature from all over The Shire. You speak of beauty simple and uncomplicated. You notice the smallest blossom; the most insignificant worm wriggling in the dirt. You reveal The Shire’s beauty to me, when The Shire itself doesn’t have the words.”

Sam pushed a stray lock of Frodo’s black hair away from Frodo’s brow. Frodo caught the hand there and held it tenderly. No words were spoken.

The soft scent of honeysuckle wafted in the breeze catching in Sam’s nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. Frodo’s head, sleeping now, rose and fell with Sam’s breathing; his lips parting slightly as he fell into deeper slumber.

Sam looked down at Frodo’s face which was bathed in sunlight, and a warmth stole into his heart. Frodo’s pale skin seemed to glow from within. His black hair shimmered like jet. Frodo may have told some truth in that Sam’s words revealed the beauty in The Shire, but to Sam the most beautiful thing The Shire possessed was now asleep in his lap – soft, delicate and untainted, like a snowdrop on the roadside that could be so easily trampled.

Sam tipped his head back to feel the sunlight on his own face, and wondered whether he would ever have the right words to reveal Frodo’s own beauty……

Sam awoke with a start. His vision fuzzy with sleep, the familiar walls of Bag End slowly came into view in the mottled moonlight. He could hear the slow, sweet breathing of Rosie beside him, and her warmth seeped through the bed sheets towards his shivering frame. He smiled bitterly as the dream fragmented in his memory then dispersed no matter how desperately he fought to keep it, until only a hollow sense of longing and loneliness remained.

Sam lay open-eyed and empty-hearted in the bed that had once been Frodo’s own, wishing things had been different. He wished the One Ring had never been found; that the Fellowship had never amassed; that Frodo hadn’t had to march to Mount Doom only to emerge a shadow of the hobbit he once was.

At that moment, while the moon was full outside the round window, like so many other nights that had come to pass and would surely follow, Sam wished most of all he had followed Frodo to the Grey Havens, accompanied him once more into the great unknown, to spend all of eternity with his master, his friend, his love.


End file.
